


There Was Someone

by imexactlythesameasyou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, Getting Back Together, Just a lot of emotion and soul searching, M/M, OR IS IT??, Post-Break Up, cause i like happy endings, well yeah
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 16:17:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5832280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imexactlythesameasyou/pseuds/imexactlythesameasyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dear Harry,</p><p>You were so forgiving when I left. The look on your face- you were so hurt, but eventually you smiled down at me and pulled me into a hug. While you probably did so in an effort to prevent me from seeing you cry, my t-shirt is still damp from the tears that you left. No doubt the floral shirt you wore that day is equally so, despite my rule to never cry in front of others. You were always the exception though, I guess.</p><p>By the time you read this, it will have been nearly a year since we last saw each other. That prospect is the most frightening I’ve ever had to face, but I have to believe that in that time you’ve come to appreciate why I did what I did and maybe one day you’ll hate me a little less for it. </p><p>Always in my heart,<br/>Yours Sincerely,<br/>Louis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Was Someone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emily/gifts).



> Hi! So this is the first fanfiction I've ever posted on here. I've written loads, but for some reason I felt like sharing one. This was written over Christmas, which is why it's a Christmas AU, but hopefully it's not so Christmasy that you're unable to read it at any other time of the year (which would be an awfully long time to wait). I really hope you enjoy, and if you do, let me know!
> 
> Lots of Love,  
> Lauren.

Harry had hardly woken up when his alarm sounded. Despite already being awake, he allowed it to sound for a moment longer, not particularly fazed by the melodic tune he had chosen for his alarm the night before. No doubt in the following days it would be decidedly less soothing, having a much more grazing effect on his nerves, but for now, he would enjoy it. After a few seconds, he reached his arm over, feeling around until his fingers made contact with the slightly cold rectangle of metal more commonly referred to as a phone. Using his thumbprint, the phone opened, the alarm muting instantly.

For a second, Harry wondered why it was he had even set his alarm. He was on holidays, had been for the last month or so, and his body had grown accustomed to mornings with as little structure as possible. He racked his brains for an answer to his sudden desire to wake up at 8 A.M., and caught himself staring at the small Christmas tree he had placed on the desk across from his bed. It was a silver one, covered in gold tinsel with purple baubles. Not the traditional colours, maybe, but pretty none-the-less. He used to have a significantly larger tree up in his room, green with so much tinsel and so many lights that he can still remember Louis’ outrageous claims of going blind every time he saw it. Harry hadn’t put it up since they broke up, decorating the damn thing seeming hardly worth it without someone there to constantly complain about it’s presence. He hadn’t meant for Christmas to change when Louis left, but, like every other aspect of his life, of course it had.

Wait- Christmas! That was it, wasn’t it? It was Christmas Eve. Harry smiled widely at the discovery. He loved Christmas, always had, always will. There was something about the carols, the lights, the trees, the Christmas movies, that made the time of year just so magical. There had also, for a number of years, been another reason Christmas Eve was so special, but those days were long gone. At the thought, he shook his head, forcing a smile onto face because it was Christmas Eve, and fuck, he wasn’t gonna spend it wallowing in his own self-pity. 

A moment later, Harry was distracted by his train of thought by the explosive noise of his bedroom door being flung open. He looked up, his smile widening when a short man with blonde hair and a gorgeous Irish accent entered his room.

“Nialler!” Harry greeted loudly, with much more enthusiasm than he usually would so early in the morning.

“IT’S CHRISTMAS EVE HARRY!” The blonde boy bellowed, and, alright, if there was anyone who got more excited about Christmas than Harry did, it was Niall. Harry suspected it probably had something to do with the fact that it provided the perfect combination of food, liquor, and funny anecdotes. Niall had never been one to pass up the opportunity of a party, and this time of year provided plenty of said opportunities. Including the party they’d all been invited to at Zayn’s place that night, which, if he was being completely honest, Harry wasn’t all that excited for. Don’t get him wrong, he absolutely adored Zayn, and his parties were always a big hit, it was just that he kind of preferred spending his Christmas Eves snuggled up by the fire, re-reading his favourite book, A Christmas Carol, something he’d now have to do in the middle of the day, which was significantly less magical, lacking somewhat the Christmas-y vibe that was all but crucial to Harry’s enjoyment of the holiday. Last year he’d even gone so far as to decline Zayn’s invitation to his party in order to play out his idea of the perfect Christmas Eve. However, that hadn’t gone exactly to plan- his mother had rung him as soon as Niall had left the flat, and by the time that call had ended, Harry was far too tired to keep his eyes open. 

“Excited are we?” Harry teased, even though he himself was unable to remove the enormous grin from his face. 

“It’s Christmas Eve.” Niall repeated pointedly, as if the concept of the day not being considered exciting was outrageous.

“Okay okay, I get it, you like Christmas.” Harry shrugged in defeat, rolling his eyes so dramatically that his head rolled with them. Niall flipped him off, glaring for a second before running towards his bed and jumping on it, landing much too on top of Harry for his liking. He groaned, pushing Niall to the unoccupied side of the bed. They lay in silence for a moment when Harry turned his head to consider the blonde boy carefully. 

“Christmas Eve or no, I can’t believe you’re actually up at this ungodly hour.” Harry poked Niall’s side, causing the poor boy to flinch back incredulously. 

“Well, someone promised to make a special day-before-Christmas breakfast. Wasn’t gonna miss out on that one, was I?” Niall poked back, urging the curly-haired boy out of the room towards the kitchen while draping one leg over Harry’s so as to make getting out of bed a somewhat harder task.

“Alright, alright. Maybe if you got off me I could actually get to kitchen.” Harry reasoned, surprisingly glad for an excuse to get out of bed and start the day. Niall seemed to weigh up his options, crinkling his nose before nodding thoughtfully and removing his leg from on top of Harry. Harry rolled his eyes and yawned, taking his time as he swung one leg and then the other out of bed. Harry smiled to himself and he stood up, completely ready for whatever the day had to throw his way. 

—

It wasn’t until just before half past two that Harry got the apartment to himself. He’d been dropping hints the whole morning, suggesting Niall should go up the street to buy some more, admittedly, unnecessary ornaments for their tree, but he hadn’t budged. Don’t get him wrong, Harry loved Niall, but he had been itching all day to light the fire, open A Christmas Carol and just, read. It had been something he had been looking forward to since last Christmas and so help him if he were to be denied it because of a stubborn Irish roommate. Eventually he had buggered off to the pub to have pre-drinks with Liam, and while Harry hardly endorsed such behaviour from his already barely sober friend, he was grateful for the fact. 

The whistle of the kettle boiling was a comfort, with the steam creating a pleasant warmth in the chilly winter air. After taking a moment to briefly check if there was in fact a fire burning in the fireplace, Harry made his way to the bookcase in his room. It was his favourite part of the apartment, with so many memories and feelings, people and places associated with different books. Some had been impulse purchases, books Harry had bought without reading the blurb simply because he had liked the colour of the book, which completely went against his philosophy of never ever judging a book by its cover. Others had been recommended to him by family and friends. The rest though, his favourites, had been presents. Books picked out specifically for him for his birthday or Christmas or for no reason at all. Books that Harry never failed to find special meaning in, whether such a sentiment was intended or not. 

A Christmas Carol was one of those. Harry used to borrow the book from the library each year, despite Louis’ endless protests that buying it would make much more sense. So, one Christmas, Louis had gone out and bought him a copy; a large hard-cover with the most beautiful illustrations. Harry had only read it one Christmas so far, what with last year ending in the phone call from his mother. He hadn’t so much as opened the book since Louis left, and he knew that as emotional as it was likely to make him to read it, he didn’t have the heart to abandon it and borrow a copy from the library, never mind the fact that the library was most likely closed that day, anyway. 

Harry’s eyes found the book immediately on the third shelf, three books from the left. He carefully pulled it out, hands brushing over it lightly so as to remove the thin layer of dust that had settled on it in the last year. With his eyes fixated on the cover that seemed to hold so much of what Christmas meant to him, Harry only moved once he heard the familiar ding of the kettle going off. Minutes later, with a cup of tea in hand, and having created a seat out of a mass of blankets and pillows, Harry sat in front of the fire, unable to help the warm smile that was quickly growing on his face. Harry put down the tea to his left side and picked up his book, opening to the first page as he sank deeper into the blankets. This, Harry thought, was what Christmas was all about. 

—

It wasn’t until Harry had finished Chapter One that he noticed it. Being so engrossed in the words of Charles Dickens, he hadn’t even realised that a piece of paper, or, multiple, he guessed, looking down, had fallen down into his lap from the book at some point. Completely distracted, Harry put down the book to his side, forgetting to even mark the page he had gotten up to. He picked up the paper cautiously, turning it over to reveal handwriting that was almost as familiar to Harry as his own. While he heard himself gasp, he remembered no sensation of it, caught so off guard by the words he now held in his hand. 

Harry fumbled with the papers as he brought them closer to his eyes. Not reading it was, of course, an option, but not one that had even crossed his mind when he had found himself in the possession of what seemed to be a letter of sorts written by the boy he had loved since he was 16. 

Dear Harry,  
If you’re reading this at Christmas, it will have been a while since we last talked. 11 months, in fact. I’m giving this letter to Niall to slip into the copy of A Christmas Carol that I gave you last year (I know it’s your favourite). Of course, I am writing this with the assumption that you have not yet disposed of the book, as you probably have every right to. There are a million things I want to say to you. Things that I can never find the words for when we’re together, thanks to your green eyes that made it so goddamn hard to think. Things that matter so little when all that seems to mean anything is your large hands wrapped around my waist, holding me like I could disappear into thin air at any given moment. Which, I guess, I have done. You have to know how hard it was for me to make this decision. Moving here, to New York, would’ve been made so much easier if I had been leaving without the knowledge that you would still be there, in London, sleeping in our bed, drinking our (my) tea, living your life without me. 

You were so forgiving when I left. The look on your face- you were so hurt, but eventually you smiled down at me and pulled me into a hug. While you probably did so in an effort to prevent me from seeing you cry, my t-shirt is still damp from the tears that you left. No doubt the floral shirt you wore that day is equally so, despite my rule to never cry in front of others. You were always the exception though, I guess. 

You’ve asked me countless times why I did it. Even when you didn’t, I could see the question in your eyes Why I wanted to go off without you to a place I’d never before been, to pursue a dream I wasn’t even sure could come true. Sometimes I wonder myself. Was it really worth leaving behind everything I knew for a chance at something amazing? To be quite honest, I’ve treated this move as a restart button. I had the chance, for the first time in my life, to begin again, escape from all the horrible mistakes I’ve made, all the people I’ve disappointed. In all my life in England, the one thing I don’t regret is you. But don’t think that that alone wasn’t enough to make me stay. Because Harry, darling Harold, I would move to the most fiery pits of hell if it meant I could be with you for the rest of my life. 

I guess, in the end, what compelled me to go, more than my dream of becoming a successful author, more than my mother’s unquenchable desire for alcohol, more than the fact that I had ended up in a crappy job stuck with semi-abusive co-workers, was you. It’s a good thing I’m writing this, for if this were a conversation, this would be the part where you would interrupt rudely to inform me of how stupid I sound. Alas, this is not a conversation, and therefore I can continue to write as I please without your constant interruptions. 

You met me when you were 16. Only two years younger than me, but a child nonetheless. You were an adorable boy, with the most gorgeous dimples and curly hair. You hadn’t even dated a girl yet, let alone another boy. I was so enamoured of you, that I didn’t think to stop and check. I didn't ask you, until years later, whether it had been your first relationship. Your very first relationship with a boy that you continued to see until you were 20. I had spent three years before I met you figuring out who I was, dating girls and boys alike to find out who I wanted to be with. You, on the other hand, were never given that chance. I see it in your eyes sometimes, the scared look you get when you think too much about labelling yourself. If moving to New York is what I have to do to give you the opportunity to experiment, find out for yourself you really are, then there is really nothing holding me back. You need to know that you’re not an extension of me. You are such a beautiful person, Harry. The most beautiful person I know. Let yourself fall into the mess of life, let go, with nothing to hold you back, nothing to stop you from being exactly who you need to be.

I love you, Harry Styles, and despite my aspirations to become an author, words cannot do justice in describing how I feel about you- how I’ve always felt about you. Being here without you is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, and it’s only been three weeks. It’s hard to breathe sometimes. The air turns to stone and I can’t breathe when I remember how far away you are from me. When the phone rings and its not you on the other end. When I wake up and all my blankets are still on me because you’re not here to steal them all. Everything I’ve ever had to deal with I dealt with you by my side, holding me and letting me know that it’ll be okay. Living without you is nothing I had ever anticipated, and harder than I could have ever imagined. It’s hard to name this place my home when I know that your arms are the only place my heart will ever call home.

By the time you read this, it will have been nearly a year since we last saw each other. That prospect is the most frightening I’ve ever had to face, but I have to believe that in that time you’ve come to appreciate why I did what I did and maybe one day you’ll hate me a little less for it. 

Always in my heart,  
Yours Sincerely,  
Louis.

Upon finishing the letter, Harry swallowed. His hands were shaking, a mix of emotions swelling in his chest, only feeling release when hot tears started to stream down his face, falling onto the letter in quick succession as Harry rubbed at his eyes angrily. It was as if every emotion he had felt in the last two year had resurfaced at once, sending breathing into a state of lesser priority to his tears. Quite suddenly, everything seemed unfair. That Louis was thousands of kilometres away by choice, that he had still felt that way when he left. That Harry had spent two years thinking he’d done something wrong, and therefore the reason Louis left was because he hated him, or perhaps he’d been bored by their relationship. Deep down, Harry knew that couldn’t have been the case, but it was hard not to let the thoughts poison his mind. 

Remembering that he still had his (now cold) cup of tea, Harry reached over and downed the rest in one go, as if the liquid could somehow fill the gaping hole in his now aching heart. It did no such thing and Harry put down the mug feeling no better. He sat for what felt like it could have been hours, but was probably closer to about 15 minutes, staring at the ceiling, trying hard to regulate his breathing. He wiped his eyes and stood up, any and all desire to finish the book quenched. 

Tears spilt a few more times that afternoon before Niall returned, with a grin on his face so wide that Harry almost grinned back. Since Niall was already slightly drunk, Harry realised with unintentional resentment that he had to go, since there was no way he was letting Niall drive to Zayn’s in his state. As much as partying seemed like just about the least appealing thing in the world right now, Harry reasoned that it would probably get his mind off things, make the pain a little more numb. He hated that even now, after two years to grieve the relationship, something as small as a letter had sent him back to square one. Well- not quite. When Louis had first left, Harry had hardly been able to leave his bedroom. Everything felt so wrong, so empty. He’d fallen into a hole of self-hatred and depression, feelings that were surely magnified by the fact that Harry had bought an engagement ring a week before Louis informed him of his departure. Harry looked down at the ring now, placed on the ring finger on his left hand. He had put it on a few months after Louis had left, for reasons unbeknownst to him now, and the thought of taking it off had just been too much to handle, even if seeing it everyday did nothing to help him move on. So he’d kept it on, as a reminder to the world that even if he was technically single, his heart was still very much the property of Louis William Tomlinson.

“Are we going, or?” Niall rolled his eyes dramatically, the impatience in his tone most probably evident to a deaf man. 

“Okay okay, calm down, I’m just looking for the ke- found ‘em! Lets go.” Harry mustered up as much enthusiasm as he could, before following a somewhat unstable Niall outside as he shut the door behind them. 

—

The party was better than Harry had expected. The music was good, various Christmas-related games were being played (most of which involving copious amounts of alcohol), and the company wasn’t half-bad either. So far, Harry had managed to strike up conversation with at least three people that weren’t in his immediate group of friends, which was surprising, considering he hadn’t even had any alcohol yet. He hadn’t forgotten about the letter- far from it, but he was doing his best to wish away its existence. 

“It’s a great party, Zayn”, Harry leaned forward to speak into Zayn’s ear, causing the older boy to whip his head around so fast it made him dizzy just looking at him do so. 

“Harry, mate! Haven’t seen you all night man, where you been?” Without waiting for an answer, Zayn engulfed him into a tight hug, clapping him on the back soundly. Harry found himself grinning, amused that Zayn was acting like he hadn’t seen him for years, when in actuality, it had only been 36 hours at most. 

Eventually Zayn let go and stepped back and regarded Harry thoughtfully. “You’re sober, why are you sober?” 

Harry cackled, ignoring the slight ache in his chest as he did so. “Well I have to drive me and Niall back home at some point, don’t I? I’d rather do so sober.”

“Awww Harold, you’re no fun.” Zayn pouted, forming an expression that should not look so endearing on the face of any full grown man, but then again it was Zayn. He’d look endearing with a carton of milk strapped to the side of his face. 

Harry shrugged, and looked around for something to distract Zayn from the lack of alcohol in his system. He saw Liam and Niall over by the kitchen counter and gestured to them. “Hey, when did Liam get here? I didn’t see him come in.” 

Zayn shrugged, and maybe it was just the ridiculous amount of Christmas lights he had hung around the place, but Harry could’ve sworn he could see Zayn’s cheeks flush red. “C’mon let’s go say hey.” Harry squinted his eyes suspiciously at Zayn’s lack of an answer but let it slide and smiled when he nodded. They walked over to the two boys, who had been having a flippant and very drunk discussion about the reasoning behind toilet lids on toilets. They didn’t seem to mind all that much about being interrupted by the presence of two of their friends.

“‘Arry!” Liam said almost too loudly despite the fact that the music was already so loud it was hard to hear yourself think. He draped his arm around Harry, giving him a sloppy kiss on the cheek. Harry wiped it off with the back of his hand and grinned. 

“You had some alcohol yet, Liam?” He teased, only patting Liam lightly on the back, so as to make sure he didn’t fall over in his heavily inebriated state. Liam furrowed his eyebrows, seriously considering the question.

“Er, I think I had some shots… Niall ‘nd me had some shots. You should have some shots, ‘Arry, They’re green!” 

Harry was about to respond when out of the corner of his eye he saw someone appear between Niall and Zayn, clapping the two boys on the back. “What’s going on lads?” The person said happily. Harry turned to look at the man, and even though he had recognised the voice, it wasn’t until he saw him that his senses caught up with his mind and it dawned on him. 

It was less than a second before Louis saw Harry, too. Harry watched him long enough to see him visibly swallow before taking his arm off of Liam and stepping back a few steps. He stumbled as he did so, but caught himself before falling. “I’m just gonna-“ Harry left the rest of the sentence to the imaginations of the four men in front of him before walking away as fast as he could without running, through the crowd, until he found Zayn’s bedroom. There was no one there, which was incredibly lucky considering Harry hadn’t thought far enough ahead to check before barging in. He slammed the door behind him, harder than he probably normally would have, beginning to pace to the bed and back. 

Harry’s heart was pumping so hard, and so fast that he had a hard time believing it could continue to beat within the restrictions of his chest. Louis was there. He was there, at Zayn house, in London, England. As in, not New York City. Had he moved back? Was he just there for the holiday? For his birthday maybe? How long had he been in London? Had Zayn and Liam known he would be there tonight? Had Niall? A million and three questions flew through his head, but none of them seemed important. Because outside the door, not even twenty metres away, the man he had once intended to marry stood. Harry knew there was only one way he could deal with this, one way that wouldn’t have the night end in tears, and that was to hide out in Zayn’s room for as long as he could get away with it. 

—

Of course, such a plan was hopelessly flawed. Harry had been in the bedroom for just over half an hour - running over in his head the contents of Louis’ letter, which was still absolutely baffling to him - when the door opened suddenly, with two girls stumbling into the room, all over each other as they made their way towards the bed. Harry found solace in the fact that they hadn’t noticed him, and begrudgingly slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. At least some people were still having a good time, he thought. 

Harry took a few steps , and then allowed himself to be carried around by the wave of people around him. He let people push past him and he felt himself moving through the crowds through none of his own volition, till he found himself on the balcony. He walked over to the edge, and with no drink in hand to casually lean against the railing, placed both his hands on the cold metal, gripping tighter than usually deemed necessary. Somehow, for Harry, such a grip was imperative, as if he would be in harm’s way were he to suddenly let go.  
—

It was a full twenty minutes before Louis found him in the exact same place on the balcony, his grip loosened slightly, his shoulders hunched forward, casting a weak shadow over the rest of his body. When Harry saw Louis, he said nothing, seemingly unsurprised by his sudden presence, gaze barely flickering as he searched Louis’ own eyes for some answers to the many questions he had. 

Louis’ eyes did not disappoint. Harry noticed immediately that the lines between his eyebrows had finally become deeper than the smile wrinkles around his eyes, something that Harry had warned him jokingly of in the past whenever he had had a bad shift at work, or he’d just come back from attempting to throw out all the alcohol at his mum’s had happened to make him frown in worry or anger. Beneath his eyes was a deep purple, almost troublingly so. Harry could also see signs of exhaustion through his body- the way his limbs hung low, aching for sleep. His large clothes fell across his thin frame, not doing as much as was obviously intended to hide the fact that he had lost a lot, if not, too much, weight. He looked rather like Harry felt, which was to say, like shit. 

“You look like shit.” Harry said out-loud, any potential brain-to-mouth filter seeming pointless in the presence of someone he had once called home. 

Louis laughed heartlessly, the cold, unfamiliar tone causing Harry to flinch slightly. This was so far from the Louis he had known, from the bouncy, cheeky man who loved with all his heart, whose passion for things shone through everything he did, to everyone he met. Harry didn’t want to talk to this Louis, or, indeed, any version of Louis, right now, but there was something keeping him there, perhaps nothing more than a lack of motivation to leave. 

“Happy Birthday, by the way.” Harry’s eyes left Louis’ face, going back to scanning the horizon, even if his focus was still on Louis in his peripheral vision. 

“Thanks.” The word was drawn out, uncertainty laced into the single syllable. The silence that followed lasted far too long to be considered normal, but it wasn't as if anything between them two had ever resembled anything normal. The rustle of wind against the pot plants Zayn had placed on the balcony did well to lessen the awkwardness since the music was playing on the other-side of Zayn’s mansion of an apartment. As a result, Harry and Louis were two of six people outside, making the proximity between the two of them a lot harder to ignore. 

“So, who’s the lucky girl?” Louis’ voice cut through the faded background noises, his voice soft and low. Harry looked back at Louis and saw with a pang that he was staring at Harry’s left hand, the fingers of which were still wrapped around the railing. The ring on his fourth finger sparkled in the dim lamp on Louis’ side which somewhat lit the space. Harry’s chest tightened, a deeper feeling of dread entering his body, flooding his heart in a way he had never quite experienced before. He knew that the question was double-barrelled, inquiring not only about the identity of his apparent partner, but also the gender. Would it make Louis feel better if he learned that Harry had experimented in his absence, had found out that he was in fact straight, and thus making Louis breaking his heart to move to America without a moment’s notice perfectly alright and justifiable? Harry doubted it. 

“There was someone.” Harry replied flippantly, holding his left hand up to Louis’ eye to examine it briefly before placing it back down. “I guess I just never took it off.” Louis nodded, attempting to appear satisfied with that answer. Even in the faded light, Harry could see that his eyes were as blue as they had ever been. Good. Life may have been unkind to both of them in the last couple of years, at least, if the rest Louis’ appearance was anything to go by, but unless it meant the dimming of the bright blue oceans that were Louis’ eyes, there was still hope. Because as much as Harry would very much like to strangle the man in front of him for the stupid decisions he made on Harry’s behalf, he couldn’t help, even now, to admire Louis’ beauty, even if it was a little tarnished at the moment. 

“Oh… well. That’s a shame. I’m sorry. Must’ve been a pretty brilliant girl for you to want to spend the rest of your life with her.” Harry ground his teeth slowly at the continued use of the word ‘girl’ in this conversation. 

“He was pretty special, yeah. Really thought he was the one, you know?” Harry said, trying hard to use the male pronoun in such a casual way that would cause Louis to double take. Instead, Louis sighed, eyes sliding off Harry as he looked towards the floor. 

“Yeah, I know.” Louis all but whispered, more to himself than to anyone else. Harry couldn’t help but feel uneasy at the words, as if they revealed something a lot deeper than just a thoughtful agreement. 

“Why did you do it?” Harry said suddenly. He could feel the sharpness behind the words, the jagged edges in his voice that gave too much away. 

“Do what?” Louis tried acting dumb, his tone that suggesting he knew there was no point in trying very hard to deny he knew exactly what Harry was referring to, but he might as well give it a shot.

“Leave, write the letter, come back. All of the above.” Harry’s normally deep, stable voice was now impossibly shaky, betraying his vulnerability much more than he had intended. 

Louis bit his lip, eyes darting around the balcony as if in search for something to take him away from the conversation. “You read the letter, yeah? So, you know-”

Harry cut him off, voice stronger, with more force. “You selfish bastard. You’re right, I do know. I know that you knew that I never cared about labels. It was your fear. Your fear of losing me to someone else. You hated the doubt that came with me. The uncertainty that came with being with someone because you never thought you were good enough. And guess what? You were. I never loved anyone the way I loved you, and I haven’t since. You knew that, even if it was easier to pretend otherwise.”

Louis’ eyes widened, and he stuttered when he spoke. “But you just said-” He gestured helplessly to the ring on Harry’s left hand, sentence trailing off. 

“You daft, daft man. I never fell in love with anyone else. How could I? This,” He held up his hand to emphasise, “this was your engagement ring. I bought it for you. Less than a month before you decided it would be a good idea to break my heart.” He was close to crying for the umpteenth time that day, his eyes stinging in his effort to keep the tears from spilling over. 

“You have no idea what it felt like- leaving you behind…”

“Don’t I? Let me guess. It was like having someone rip a piece of your chest out, leaving you in a constant state of ache. You feel like everything else is insignificant. Everything you’ve ever cared about, suddenly means nothing. You feel as if you are walking on thin ice all the time, and that one day it would break and you would just fall through. You keep questioning yourself- did I do the right thing? Am I better off alone, without him? You see the dreams you’ve had of marriage, of children, slip though your fingers, something once so tangible, now a distant desire. And you keep replaying, over and over, the last time you saw each other, thinking that maybe if you do it enough you can change what happened.” Harry turned around then, facing the house. Louis said nothing as Harry stared at him, tears beginning to roll down his face. Just when he had thought he hadn’t had any tears left. 

After a few moments, Harry pushed off the balcony and started to walk towards the door. “Harry- Harry wait.” Harry stopped at the sound of Louis’ voice, but didn’t turn around. 

“I’m done waiting, Louis.” His voice was small, but Louis heard him, not saying another word as Harry went into the house, eventually disappearing into the sea of people inside. It was nearly an hour before Louis followed suit, entering the house, knowing that Harry was long gone.


End file.
